interstellar5555 | And I need your love the most

Entry tags:

And I need your love the most

Who: Lapis and characters who participated in her plotline
What: Lapis deals with the aftermath of being controlled by Lesedi and taken down by Gold.
When: Backdated like whoa until shortly after the festival attacks.
Where: Various -- mostly Agent Apartment.
Warnings: Probable angst/trauma dealings

A. Closed to Signless - For three days after Gold arrives and hands it over to Signless, Lapis' gem lies quiet, inert, going wherever Signless goes without any signs of life.

Not until the third day does it awaken.

Light blooms in its core, flushing outward until the whole stone is alive with it, gleaming. Rising into the air from its nest on Signless' mattress, it floats from the bed, light blossoming into the shape of a young woman and flourishing into detail -- toes, fingers, and trailing ribbons that stir in an absent breeze. She uncurls like a bird hatching from an egg, stretching, feet grazing the floorboards, then coming to rest.

For a moment she only stands there, eyes slipping open like she's awakening from a dream, gaze hazy and distant.

And then suddenly, she's awake.

With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, her eyes whisk about the room, wheeling around at the four walls like an animal who's suddenly found herself in a cage, desperate, panicked. Her feet brace against the floor as though she means to run -- somewhere, anywhere -- hands clapping over her ears, eyes squeezed shut as her voice escapes in a shriek.

---

B. Closed to Frisk - If Frisk asks for her, they'll be allowed in during the time between when she awakens from her gem and when she first ventures outward -- during the time when she sequesters herself in Signless' room. Why Frisk is allowed and no one else is hard to say . . . but this is how it is.

---

C. Open to Agent Apartment - For a few days she doesn't emerge from Signless' room at all.

When at last she does, it's at night.

While the rest of apartment supposedly sleeps, generally around 2:00 in the morning, she slips from Signless' room, a shadow nearly silent on bared feet, taking residence in the empty common room. For a few hours she can be found on the couch in one of two ways:

C1. In a pool of lamplight, wedged into a corner of the couch, feet tucked up underneath her, a small pile of magazines around her. Mostly she seems to be studying pictures instead of reading the text. Exhaustion is imprinted in her face, dark in hollows beneath her eyes, readable in the wilting curve of her neck and shoulders.

C2. Asleep, curled into a half ball, her neck striking a bad angle with the couch arm. Thought Gems weren't supposed to sleep? She apparently is . . . but it doesn't look peaceful. Her eyebrows knit, features tensed, limbs pulled as close as she can manage.

With something between a yelp and a shriek, she'll wake up suddenly, eyes enormous and dark, unfocused.

---

D. Open to Agent Apartment or Undertale - She wends her way up to the roof. It's late -- more than enough late for the city to be quiet, but even at this hour there is still plenty of light from nightlife, still the honks and beeps of cars. The stars are invisible, swallowed in the light pollution, and the beach is far away.

She leans against the edge of the roof and stares down at the street below, then out at the skyline of the city itself. The wind stirs the ribbons at her neck, but otherwise she doesn't move, silent and still.

---

E. Closed to Oscar - She doubts he wants anything to do with her. There seems no reason why he should.

She wants to know what's happened to him, wants to know if he's okay, but she doesn't go. Doesn't contact. In the limbo that the silence between them creates, it's akin to Schrodinger's cat paradox: She doesn't have to look under the box to find out his status. She doesn't have to run the risk of finding out that things are not as well as she might hope. She doesn't have to face the rejection she's sure is coming.

If he comes to find her, she'll be in the apartment . . . but he'll have to have convinced someone else to let him in.

---

F. Closed to Steven - At night she leaves the apartment building from the roof, slipping into the form of a small, blue bird and winging through the sky in staccato bursts, landing at nearly every other building.

Wrong. Wrong. This is wrong; she shouldn't be doing this. She can't do this; she's going to be found, going to be caught again.

At least five times she stops on a foreign roof, suddenly back to herself again, crouched and burying her face into her hands as her chest contracts so tightly she can barely breathe. I can't. I can't. I can't.

But always one thought in the wake: I have to see him. I want to see him.

So it goes every few minutes. But every few minutes, in spite of her hesitation, she shifts back. Presses on.

She knows exactly which window to choose at Pride; she memorized it long ago. Clinging to the window ledge on small bird feet, trying to swallow back the sound of her own pounding heartbeat, she taps at the glass with her beak and silently pleads with the boy inside to answer.

---

G. Closed to Greg - The young woman is red-haired, a small starfield of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Unlike most of the others her age, she's alone at the signing, quiet, not taking selfies or chattering with anyone. In fact, she looks almost . . . unhappy? Definitely weighted, her thin shoulders drawn inward. Her eyes linger on Marty's empty chair, then back toward Greg in his.

Though she's there almost the full time, she doesn't enter the line until nearly the end, when she's almost the last. She waits there, eyes cast downward, until it's her turn.

There's nothing in her hands.

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Over one of the armrests sits a colorful sea slug. It wobbles a bit as it's held by a hand belonging to someone hiding behind the rest of the couch.

That someone also makes a bunch of squeaky noises before saying in an equally squeaky voice, "Did you have a bad dream?" The sea slug hops a little with each word. "Wanna talk about it?"

Her eyes whisk towards the unexpected noise and the slug, wide; for a moment, Lapis remains half-tangled in the remaining threads of the nightmare, and the stuffed slug may be one more thing to confront. Every muscle goes tense and rigid as though she expects an attack.

Which of course doesn't come.

The slug's colorful, silly face stares back at her. Around her are the worn, familiar surroundings of the apartment; the light from the lamp she left on envelops her in a warm, golden halo. She breathes, eyes softening, tugging her legs up underneath her skirt.

Safe. She's here. She's safe.

Tentatively her eyes flick back to the waiting slug, and she presses her lips together, hesitant. "3?"

She's not always very good about playing along. Even when it would be easier.

"3 is here, but 3 is also not me. I am a sea slug. Or you can call me a sea bunny." Again, the plush "hops" with each word in a friendly, silly manner. "Let's be friends!"

The sea slug plush goes still for a moment as 3 adjusts how she's sitting on the floor. "I don't have a name. Can you give me one?"

More staring at the hopping slug and its bright, bobbing, happy face. Is this . . . What is this?

Is . . . she trying to play? (How could 3 possibly?)

Poking fun? It doesn't quite seem like that either.

Another few moments of hesitation, and Lapis lays her hand lightly on top of the slug, shifting a little to peer over the back of the couch to the squid-girl behind it.

"What . . . are you doing?"

"There is no one behind me. I am just a slug." 3 makes it appear like the slug is nuzzling the underside of Lapis' palm. However, 3 can't keep herself from giving a few giggles and breaking her "role" momentarily.

"I am a new friend for you. Sea slugs make good pets and friends. I think you should have more friends."

. . . Lapis can totally see her, though. She's looking right down at the top of 3's head even as the slug nuzzles her palm.

Lapis could say this fact aloud, but . . . plainly 3 wants her to be talking to the toy instead. Why exactly isn't something she understands, but . . . for the moment she isn't sure she has a choice.

. . . At least it's not a horrible choice, even if it's a little strange.

After a moment of hesitation, she shifts again so she's further sideways to better face the slug, legs still drawn up as though she doesn't quite trust them to the floor. For another long moment, she only stares into the pattern of the couch's upholstery, for a moment too far away.

"I hurt people," she says softly. ". . . I could have hurt them more."

3 included, especially with the weakness to water.

"Not being a friend . . . would probably be easier."

"You could have, but we got you back from the bad guys. You are not part of the bad guys, and you deserve friends." 3 tries to bring the slug closer to Lapis, leaning over the armrest.

"You're not gonna spend the rest of the mission, in here are you? But you can spend as much time as you need. And you'll have company!" Again, the slug hops at each squeaky word.

3 wants to bring Lapis out from blaming herself for the whole thing. The bad guys had gotten to her, and while 3 knows that Lapis could lash out suddenly to protect someone, she also knows she can be trusted. 3 doesn't hold what happened against Lapis. And Lapis can learn from it and move past it.

Her eyes slip a little sideways towards the dancing slug, half-lowered and through her lashes. She doesn't look nearly as sure as 3 sounds.

"I hurt them," she murmurs again. "So badly."

Sea slug is going to come closer and try to nuzzle Lapis. "But you got hurt too. And you're hurting now."

That fact's undeniable to 3. "The only score we're keeping is how many times we need to sock the bad guys for hurting our friends and you."

She's silent. After a good minute, she releases a long, soft breath.

It's not that easy to fix. Moving through guilt, the knowledge that she's given into what she shouldn't have is something that's going to linger a while. But at the same time, she recognizes what 3 is trying to do -- and what's more, recognizes that the tiny squid-girl doesn't seem to blame her for it. 3 is trying . . . and that means something.

Through her lashes, she stares at the sea slug again, this time softer. With a finger she reaches out to rub the top of its head.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

A pause. "You can come up if you want?"

A small little toss has the sea slug "hopping" into Lapis' lap or arms. 3 pulls herself up and leans on the armrest. She smiles, and there is a sparkle in her eye. Maybe she hasn't made Lapis feel 100% better, but there's a chink in the gloom. It's a good start.

"Hello, Lapis. I see you have a new friend there." If anything, 3 is dedicated to her cause.

Most dedicated. Strangely enough, the sea slug now just sits in Lapis' lap with no wise words; having caught it with her hands, she's crossed her legs down so that it perches on top of the folds of her skirt. Most strange indeed.

Hesitation. ". . . You're not hurt?"

"No, I'm okay," she says while giving an easy smile. 3 flops a little on the armrest. "I'm just trying to do my part to keep my friends okay."

Frisk does, of course, ask. They've been waiting for a while to see if anything would happen, and roundly rebuking themself for not having thought to ask Lapis more about how Gems worked before.

They're characteristically silent as they slip into the room, and they carefully shut the door behind them. But they don't seem particularly cowed at seeing Lapis again after their fight. If anything, they seem concerned.

They'll find her on the opposite side of Signless' bed-nest on the floor next to the wall, all of her limbs tucked as closely and tightly as she can manage. She's fully conscious -- very conscious -- of the soft click of the door back into place, of the lightness of footfalls leading away from it and towards her. It's too late not to want this.

Her eyes flicker up to meet them, freezing on their face. She finds she can't quite look away, breath held against what comes next.

Frisk tilts their head down at Lapis for a moment, a little startled by the sudden eye contact. She'd been so still as they approached that they weren't sure if she'd acknowledge them at all.

It'd have been fine if she didn't. Sometimes you don't - just like how they don't want to talk sometimes, even though they can. But they're pleased that she has, and they smile softly down at her before sitting down where they are. Once they're settled, they give her a little wave. Hey there.

They're not moving away. Not looking angry . . . or even scornful. Contrary to that -- they're smiling. Sitting down across from her. Waving . . . like she's a friend they haven't spoken to in a while. It jolts through her nerves in a heady, breath-taking sensation. It's as though she's at the edge of a cliff looking down.

"Hello." It's a whisper, half-formed; her voice is almost too hoarse for the first syllable, cutting it short.

It's not the best thing to say in light of everything she should say to them. It's a tentative word instead -- a word to see what happens, a word for lacking the knowledge of how to begin.

She can remember it: Their small body in her arms, her twisting to strike the ground first, the jerk of her shoulder as it meets the earth.

Do they remember it too? She wants to know -- needs to know somehow, for reasons she's not sure she knows yet.

"Hi."

Their response is quiet. But then, that's typical of Frisk. So is the silence they lapse back into afterwards, thoughtful as they watch Lapis's face.

Shades of this are so familiar. They can't help but think of Asriel - the things they said to him, the things they didn't. For all that they care for him, they're much closer to Lapis than they ever were with their almost-brother; they've simply had so much longer to know each other. She must feel worse because of it. She'd tried so hard to protect them before, like in the warehouse...

That makes them think of themself.

Frisk misses their resets. Even if they didn't use them much lately, it was good to know that they could take back anything they said that went really wrong. All the words they can think of seem silly, or too small. Hurting your friends isn't something you can forget, even if you could take it back. They know she's not okay yet, so they decide not to ask. It might make her think she should try and pretend. "How are you?" is what they settle on instead, though the words still seem too small. That's just what they want to know.

That's a more complicated question than it appears on the surface. She's not sure if she knows how to answer it readily -- or in a way that is "okay" to their ears. Her mind feels like an open wound in the wake of the slash that split it -- raw, exposed, seeping. Malachite and the remains of the spell that could not be flushed out still whisper in the depths, inaudible, but ever-present.

Her eyes slip closed, and she settles for a quick, tight shake of the head, shoulders tightening in their hunch.

"You said you've done things." Her voice is still a husky rasp, a bare thread of sound. "How do you live with them?"

Because in spite of it all, Frisk still seems to find ways and means to be at ease -- even maybe at some times, happy. That sort of peace seems very far away right now, but like a drowning woman, she wants something to grasp. To hold.

Though the thin redhead hardly seems like the average groupie, fans come in all sizes and energy levels. It's not uncommon for some to become shy or anxious. Similarly, some seem satisfied with a handshake or a few exchanged words. Mr. Universe puts his smile on as bright as he would for anyone else, beckoning her over even as she walks forward.

"Hey there, glad to see you. What can I do for you, hon?"

She comes slowly even as he beckons . . . and she doesn't come close. Most fans crowd the edge of the table, lean over it; they want to be close as possible, want to touch and share the space and for a moment feel like they're personal with a being they feel like they know intimately through music and performance.

The redhead doesn't. She stands a couple of steps away from the table, the space almost tangible between them. Her hands are hidden, tucked away in the folds of her skirts.

Briefly she presses her lips together, eyes flicking back to Marty's chair, then to Greg. "What happened at the festival. Are you . . . all right?"

Somehow she doubts that whatever answer he gives will be completely truthful. He has a front to keep up, and whatever he's undergone, whatever has been done, he's good at it. She can tell that much from watching him the last couple of hours; his front barely flickers.

But Greg is still there. What happened during their fight proves that much. If she's lucky, in the space between her question and his response, she'll catch something that betrays him.

And in the end, if there's nothing . . . at least she'll accomplish what she needs to do.

At the very least, she owes him that.

His first reaction is a flicker of surprise. For all the damage done at the festival, no one ever brought it up. Everyone spoke of fantastic music, stellar performances, and a good time. He'd suspected it had been the same magic that prevented anyone from reacting beyond keeping themselves alive.

For just a moment, Mr. Universe considers her with narrowed eyes. Then, he follows her gaze and glances over to where Marty ought to be seated. His jaw tightens. Finally, the tension sighs out of him, and he shakes his head.

"I'm moving forward. We all are."

A nod, brief -- a single dip of the head.

She can't stay much longer, and she senses that. If he guesses before she's ready to move, she's not fully sure what he'll do. Would he attack her again? Alert others?

Above all things, she can't be caught again. And she doesn't want to be in a position where there's even a vague possibility of hurting him again. The exchange has to finish. She has to go.

"I'm sorry." The words tumble out as though she isn't sure she'll have the chance to say them -- anxious even though her voice is soft. "Greg."

"Even . . . if it doesn't mean anything right now."

She's twisting away even as she says it.

At her words, his face flickers with a number of emotions--confusion, realization, conflict, anger. God, he's stupid. He's seen her do this, he should have expected...

Mr. Universe stands up suddenly, glaring at her back. Instantly the eyes of the bodyguards are on him, tensed and ready to act. It would take a word, and they could take her. She deserved it. She hurt his people.

He remembers the sensation of drowning. The muted, heavy, breathless wet. His breath rattles in his throat, and he speaks, soft but harsh.

"Never. Never come back. You hear me?"

He won't give her a second chance. For now... there's too many people around.

Her eyes flick back to him, dark and blue. Connect fully with his face for the first time. For a moment again she's small, too delicate, as though too easily a hand could reach out and snap her bones.

"Even . . . if it doesn't mean anything right now," she repeats, and the words are almost inaudible.

And then she's gone, weaving into what little crowd remains.

What happened that night... was awful and it's just another memory he does not want. But he also know another thing for sure: That wasn't Lapis. He thanks God that Usagi was there to heal him or else he would be crippled for life. But all he could think about was Lapis, was she alright, did she snap out whoever brainwashed her?

It takes a while to find, but he finally found her at her apartment.

He knocks on the door.

He's allowed in, but probably he's had to work at it. The degree that he had to work at it is directly proportionate to the degree of her anxiety about it; after all, again, if she doesn't have to lift the edge of the box, she never has to know if Schrodinger's cat still lives when so strongly she suspects that it doesn't. She doesn't have to see it dead.

But in the end, she can't refuse him. By this point he's more than entitled; to refuse him is a complete impossibility even when every nerve wants escape. Whoever was serving as intermediary finally gets the okay to let Oscar come in, and he'll find her in the living room, tucked up into a corner of the couch.

Her eyes flick upward to him, landing on his chest, his hands, his knees. Anywhere but his face before again they scatter away.

She has to find words . . . and yet it's a flinch.

Sometimes, it's hard to sleep. A part of it is things being in a strange town, with danger that could come knocking down their door at any minute. Everyone's on edge at just the possibility of it, especially whenever someone disappears.

Lapis disappearing being a prime example of why there's that worry.

Still, Connie tries her best. She wraps herself up in her blanket and does all the tricks she's even slightly heard about. She counts sheep, she rewrites the ending of Unfamiliar Familiar in her head, she puts her head under the pillow. Yet after what's probably hours of trying this, Connie sighs and pushes back her blankets. Quietly as she can, to avoid waking up anyone, she makes her way through the apartment and heads to the roof.

Maybe just being alone will help.

Except, when she opens the door to the roof, she's not alone. There's a familiar figure in blue, and Connie freezes in the doorway as she spots her.

The door squeals on traitorous hinges, not very well-maintained . . . and suddenly Lapis realizes she's not alone. Head snapping up, her eyes whisk over her shoulder towards the girl.

And in turn she freezes too as though she doesn't quite dare to move.

For the longest moment, however much she knows it’s impossible, Connie doesn’t even think she can breathe. There’s only the sound of her heartbeat, picking up, loud. Then her body forces her to swallow, and time seems to start back up again. Words trip out of her mouth.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

Lapis remains frozen, still, just as rigid as the girl in the door. The words, though, seem to surprise her; there's a small easing of her muscles, however minute.

"You don't . . . have to apologize to me."

For a moment, Connie doesn’t know how to respond, so she focuses on trying to ease up her muscles. Everything in her is still trying to ring the alarm, tell her to be ready to go on the defensive, and it takes work to calm down before she can speak again. “But… You probably came up here to be alone, right?”

Less to be alone and more because it's hard being with the others, in spite of the kindness they've shown her so far. Maybe, in some ways, because of the kindness they've shown her so far. Having been hijacked, haunted, plunged into memories and the lingering ties that remain between her and Jasper . . . the kindness feels alien, as though the nightmare of recent days was real and the warm stability that came before it was the dream.

She's still trying to sort it out -- that division between worlds. She's not always sure where she stands. She needs to keep talking -- to make herself keep talking -- and hope that the dream wakes her up from the nightmare.

"Yes." She's honest; it's not really her nature to do otherwise, even when it doesn't always give the proper social grace. "But . . . it's okay."

Because she has the sense that Connie will try to back out anyway, she adds quickly, "Really."

She forces conviction into her voice. She owes Connie this.

True enough, her heels has been rocking back before Lapis’ words, but Connie stops herself. Running away won’t solve anything, after all. Carefully, she closes the door behind her and takes a few steps further onto the roof.

“Do.. you want to talk?”

She twists fully, leaning into the brick. A hand comes up to brace one elbow even as her eyes shift away. This doesn't get any easier the more she does it. "I need . . . to say I'm sorry."

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you. I promised."

Oh.

One of her hands curls against her arm, and Connie swallows. There’s a lot she could say here, but how it isn’t Lapis’ fault, how Lesedi is to blame for all of this, but it doesn’t come out. What comes out instead is, “It…. was scary. It was like the time when you took the ocean. All I could think about was almost drowning again. I know it wasn’t your fault, but… still.”

With that off her chest, she lets herself breathe again. “Were you scared too?”

Lapis' shoulders curve inward with the first part, tightening as though to protect against the words she can't keep from coming -- and maybe to ward off the other ones she expects. Her features are drawn, unhappy.

The question that follows, though, is nothing that she expected, and she blinks upward, surprised by it -- even though her eyes don't stay.

". . . Yes," she answers after a moment, voice quiet. "Not . . . for the same reasons."

Hesitation, and she adds, "I didn't . . . know it was you. I mean -- I did, in the sense I know it now. But not then. I thought you were Gems. I thought you were coming for me. They told me that's who you were. They twisted everything -- what I saw, what I heard. I had to believe them. There wasn't another choice."

That explains a lot. There’s still so much Connie doesn’t know about the Crystal Gems, or Gems in general, but Lapis’ fear and anger at them has always been obvious. Amidst all the amazement at her power, Connie can remember that part standing out easy. It makes sense that the easiest way to turn her against others would be that sort of comparison.

“I thought it was something like that… I knew me and Agent 3 on our own couldn’t be that scary to you. So…” It had to be something else. Connie shifts her feet. “But I didn’t know how we could help you, either. It’s horrible, to be powerless like that….”

"It was like being stuck in the past and not being able to leave," she murmurs, hand tightening at her elbow. "Repeating it every time there was someone new. She used my memories -- the war, Jasper, getting trapped in the mirror. Everything that hurt or scared me. Over and over again. It twisted my sight, twisted sounds . . ."

There's more -- the voices, the fact that they linger even now, whispering on the edges of her consciousness. But she's not sure they're something she wants (or is ready) to give.

“Well…” Connie steps closer, fighting her own flight-or-fight instincts that always come up screaming whenever she sees Lapis. “If getting trapped in the past was the problem, maybe it would help if… we tried to focus on the present? On the future.”

Staying inside, unless he bundled up and hid with the hologram, was safe and responsible and boring. Every now and then, Papyrus flicked the disguise on without any layers, and headed up to the rooftop where he was unlikely to run into any strangers. It wasn't the same as looking out over Mount Ebott, or driving on the highway... But it was nice to stand in the wind sometimes. Opening all the windows in the apartment really wasn't the same thing.

Plus, if the rooftop was properly deserted... he could practice! It'd be rude to risk sparring in the apartment itself. Not that he would break anything, with his excellent control of his magic... but it might alarm people to see bones appear and levitating around. No sense in doing that.

Only for it to turn out there was somebody on the rooftop. Somebody... suspiciously familiar!

"It's you!" And she looks better! Not tearing chunks out of a street or a musician's stage or anything. Much more still and peaceful. Which is probably a relief after being so seemingly angry for so long.

At this late hour, she wasn't expecting anyone.

That's one reason she's been moving about so late -- to avoid the others when they're supposed to be asleep.

She hasn't seemed to have much luck with that, though. One by one they've found her, by chance or by slip up from her or by seeking her out, all of them strangely persistent.

Her eyes flash in the direction of the voice, wide, clearly trying to determine if this is a threat and she needs to fly. It's old habit, not one easily lost -- and one that's regaining in power after the endless press of Lesedi's spell.

Papyrus isn't a threat, though. Strange, bewildering . . . but not a threat. He's not even someone she's hurt. That makes it easier. Safer. Like Signless, it's someone who doesn't inspire a sudden contraction of the chest.

She eases, hands uncurling against the concrete. "Hello."

It's quiet, at the moment. He'd been practicing his keyboard a while ago, but now he's just laying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, the miniature version of the instrument laying across his chest. He's kind of surprise that he's still here, after what he did at that concert.

There's so much he's been wondering about. What happened to his dad. What happened to Lapis. If she's ever coming back. It comes with a feeling of being so dismayed that he's gone numb. There's only so sad he can be, without just aggressively trying to hope that things will be okay.

He's still awake enough to notice the some of a gentle tapping. He looks up at the window blankly and sees the bird there. He blinks at it somewhat cluelessly - in the darkness he doesn't immediately notice the unnatural qualities of it. Or how familiar it is, from when Lapis was staying with him before. He can't dare to hope.

"Hi, birdy," he says dumbly. He imagines that if he stands up, the bird will fly away.

He hears her. He's awake -- or she's woken him up. She can hear him, at least. She cants her head a little, twists her head to peer into the room with one bright, black eye. Bird eyes aren't the best for seeing properly in the dark.

But again, she's heard his voice. She can't stop now. Again she taps at the glass with her beak. Open the window, Steven. Please. She doesn't know how long she can keep controlled enough, especially here on Pride's doorstep. Please open the window.

The birds persistence is what really gets his attention. It's hard to ignore an animal when it's being so cute, and so unabashedly. He slowly starts to get up and come over, though as he does, something else is dawning on him too. This bird seems familiar.

His stomach twists with a sudden anxiety, and a sudden hope. After a moment of stunned surprise as the revelation rolls over him, he quietly tries to open the window. It slides open enough for her to get in, but not much more.

"H-Hi... are you...? Is that..." He's too nervous to ask outright, for fear that he'll be wrong.

She doesn't give him long enough to question, hopping in as soon as the window is open enough and onto the floor. She's herself again in a moment, snatching him close.

She's shaking.

"Steven."

The sudden embrace startles him, because at first he didn't even think there were the arms required to make it happen. But then Lapis is in the form of a gem woman again, and he can feel her cool skin around him. He gasps, but he can't stop himself from reacting all the same. He returns the embrace, hardly comprehending it the reality of it all.

"Lapis... you got away! Did... did you get away? You're here!"

Trolls don't tend to sleep deeply - especially not when they don't have any sopor. As far as Signless had come with managing to rest that night, Lapis's appearance wakes him immediately. The sounds of panic are the sounds of a possible incoming death, and so his instincts have him ready to run or fight without pause.

But then he remembers what is going on, and about the gem he's been caring for over the last few days. He's been waiting for her to come back with relative patience, but actually having her there fills him with a sense of relief and startled concern.

"Lapis," he gasps softly, sitting up and out of his pile of blankets. He keeps his hands to himself despite his sudden urge to try to support her. "It's okay, you're home! Shh, it's okay..."

Ugh, he may as well be papping her at this rate. Maybe he actually should?

She whirls on him at the sound of his voice, eyes enormous and wild, unseeing. For a moment there's so much energy in her frame -- ready to move, ready to run, and also wild, as though even a window might suffice. A ripple of a shiver runs through her as she stares at him, through him . . . it takes a full ten seconds before recognition creeps into her features. Silently, once, her lips form his name . . . then again, repeated in a wisp.

Her feet are still braced, and though frozen, the energy is still there, only contained. Staring back across the space in between them, water hovers, quivers in her lashes. Her hands haven't moved from her ears.

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C2 - Couch buddies

<3 XD

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B, obvs

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Ggggggg

Not enough "g"s. ;)

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E.

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D

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D: why did he climb the building?

It's a worthy question. ^^; Stairs are your friend, man.

F.

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A. AND BEFORE THAT

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